The Only Chance
by She's a Star
Summary: Spike manages to thwart Wesley's attempt at spending an evening alone with Fred, and in addition, poor Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is forced to face simpering teenage girls AND the timeless question of what movie to rent.


**The Only Chance**

_By She's a Star_

**Disclaimer:** 'Angel' belongs to Joss Whedon, and Breakfast at Tiffany's ain't mine either. Wesley's first bit of dialogue belongs to Storm, because she wrote it in order to inspire me.

**Author's Note:** Lord help me, I think I've become irreversibly addicted to these two.

Set after Destiny, I suppose. No specific spoilers, 'cept that Spike's got the whole corporeal thing going on.

WARNING: fluffy. Incredibly fluffy. Might even go so far as to say painfully fluffy. Continue at your own risk.

Have a nice day.

*

            "How 'bout this one?" Fred asked, pointing to something starring Nicole Kidman. "I heard it was good. Of course," she added, smiling at Wesley, "it's not really my place to choose, since Wesley suggested we do this in the first place . . ."

            "Yes." Wesley nodded. "Well . . .  maybe. I think." He looked at the others. "Oh, I can't handle the awesome responsibility of choosing, for God's sake!"

            "Oh, come on, Watcher Boy," Spike urged. "Pick something. For the bloody good of mankind, or the fate of the free world, or something all noble like that."

            Fred giggled, and Spike winked at her.

            Wesley really did hate him sometimes. Irritated, he responded, "Somehow I doubt picking out a movie to watch this evening is quite that paramount a decision."

            "Then hurry it up already," ordered Spike. "I'm bored."

            "Nobody said you had to be here," Wesley reminded him. As a matter of fact, when he'd invited Fred to come watch a movie at his house, he'd allowed himself to hope that maybe . . . something might happen between them. And he really doubted that anything at all would happen if Spike were sitting with them on the couch. Probably right in between them, knowing Wesley's luck.

            "Yeah, 's true," Spike replied mock-thoughtfully, "but I'd be more bored back at the big bad law firm with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding skulking around."

            "To my knowledge, Angel doesn't . . . skulk," Wesley replied evenly.

            Spike snorted.

            "I dunno, Wesley," Fred said, smiling. She really was radiant when she smiled. "Angel is kinda skulky sometimes."

            "See? See?" Spike asked triumphantly. "Science Girl agrees with me."

            "Yes, well, that's all very nice," Wesley said impatiently. "But can we just . . ."

            His voice trailed off as a pair of giggling teenage girls approached them, both eyeing Spike as though he were the most dazzling thing they'd ever seen.

            "Oh, wonderful," muttered Wesley darkly. Fred glanced at him and gave him a quick smile.

            One of the girls, a blonde wearing far more makeup than could possibly be healthy, batted her eyelashes dramatically at Spike for a moment before nodding towards Fred and asking, "So are you two, like, going out?"

            "No," Wesley said at once.

            Oops.

            "She didn't ask you," the other teenage girl, this one with obviously dyed flaming red hair, responded snottily.

            "Yes, I caught that," Wesley returned as composedly as he could manage.

            Spike smirked at him before turning back to the blonde girl. "Nope, me 'n Fred here are just friends. Perfectly platonic, if ya know what I mean."

            The blonde girl looked slightly perplexed, and Wesley concluded that thanks to Spike's use of 'platonic,' she in fact did not know what he meant.

            "Cool," the blonde girl said, staring up at the vampire from under insane amounts of eye makeup.

            "Actually, I'm single. Newly single. Just got out of a pretty serious relationship." Spike paused tragically and stared downward. "I actually think she mighta been using me a bit."

            "That _bitch," said the blonde, wide-eyed with horrified disbelief._

            "This is ridiculous," Wesley murmured to Fred. "Shall we go look in the drama section-"

            "Whoa," the redhead cut in, placing a hand on Wesley's arm. He stared down at it. Her fingernails were covered in badly chipping black polish.

            _And I thought only Spike went for that look nowadays, he thought wryly._

            "You kinda talk like Hugh Grant," she told him, looking deeply awed.

            "Yes," Wesley said awkwardly. "Well, that may be because we're both, um, British."

            "Really?" the redhead asked, as though that was the most fascinating thing she'd ever been told. "That's so great. Because, you know, I think that's really sexy. I love a man with an accent."

            "Spike has an accent too," said Wesley, feeling very uncomfortable. "So perhaps you could focus your attention on him-"

            "Please," said the redhead. "Julie would _kill me if I moved in on her man."_

            "You see, he's not her man, technically," said Wesley delicately. "Actually, he's a bit old for you-"

            "He's not as old as you are," observed the redhead.

            "No. He's actually older-"

            "No _way," the redhead said, shocked. "That's, like, totally unbelievable."_

            "Stranger things have happened," Wesley replied loftily. "So, er-" He tentatively reached for her hand and attempted to move it off of his arm.

            The redhead clearly misinterpreted his actions. "You wanna go somewhere quieter?" she asked, leaning forward a bit.

            Um.

            "Er. Actually, I . . . I'm far too old for you – illegally so, I might add – and, um, besides, I-"

            "Honey, what are you doing?" Fred asked sweetly, coming over closer and looping her arm through his. "We have to get back soon. The babysitter said she had to be home by nine."

            Wesley stared blankly down at her.

            "Ew," the redhead said, yanking her hand away. "You've got a _baby_?"

            "Er," said Wesley.

            "Oh, yeah," Fred cut in, all smiles. "Her name's Sarah Marie – isn't that pretty? – and she'll be six months old next Thursday! She's just the sweetest little girl you ever saw; she's got her daddy's eyes," Fred added, squeezing Wesley's arm and leaning closer to him.

            The redhead stared for a moment before rolling her eyes at them and moving over to join her blonde partner in crime, who was staring attentively at Spike as he rambled on about something.

            "Thank you," Wesley said gratefully.

            Fred beamed at him. "No problem. I could tell you were getting a little flustered."

            "Am I really that transparent?" he asked, smiling back at her as they strayed toward the classic films aisle. Her arm was still slipped through his, but he didn't see any sense in reminding her so she would pull away.

            "Yep," she replied brightly.

            "Casablanca," he suggested, taking it off the shelf.

            "Nah." She shook her head. "It always makes me cry."

            "Does it?" he asked.

            She nodded in confirmation. "Like a baby."

            He set the movie back down, still feeling a bit shaken by the very strange events that had taken place a moment before. "So . . . Sarah Marie, was it?"

            Fred blushed a little. "You probably think I'm a total geek for picking out baby names. I came up with that one when I was fourteen."

            "Not at all," Wesley said. "It's very pretty."

            "Ya think?" she asked, smiling.

            "Yes. I-"

            He was cut off by a delighted squeal from Fred. "Ooh, Breakfast at Tiffany's!"

            She slid her arm out of his and reached for the case. Wesley couldn't help but smile as she turned back to him.

            "I love this movie," she announced somewhat dreamily. "I wanted to marry Paul when I was younger."

            "I was always a bit more inclined towards Holly myself," Wesley responded.

            Fred giggled, then looked at the case again and sighed. "Y'know what's funny?"

            "What?" he asked, taking a step closer and allowing his arm to brush lightly against hers.

            "Most peoples' favourite scene in this movie is the end – with Cat, and the rain, and everything. Or the part where she sings Moon River." She glanced at him for a second, as though to check that he was still listening to her. Wesley couldn't help but find this a bit amusing, in an ironic sort of way – he doubted she was aware of it, but he'd been hanging on her every word for the past two years.

            "But my favourite part has always been Paul's speech – towards the end, you know. When they're in the taxi." Fred laughed a little, and said quietly, "'You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken. You've got no guts. You're afraid to-'"

            "-'Stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact,"'" Wesley cut in. She looked at him in surprise. "'People do fall in love'-"

            "'People do belong to each other,'" Fred said, grinning. Her nose crinkled as she smiled.

            "'Because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness,'" Wesley finished softly. Her eyes were locked with his; he wasn't sure she'd ever looked at him like this before.

            "Wow," she said quietly, after a moment of silence. "I guess you've seen it more than once, huh?"

            "As a matter of fact-"

            "Here you are," Spike's loud – not to mention entirely unwelcome – voice announced, sounding annoyed. "I've been looking for you for ages."

            "We only left a few minutes ago," Fred reminded him cheerfully.

            "Oh, yeah. Right. So," Spike said, slinging an arm teasingly around Fred's shoulders, "what're we watching, pet?"

            "We were gonna go with Breakfast at Tiffany's, I think," Fred replied, glancing at Wesley for approval. He nodded.

            "Ugh. Count me out," Spike announced, immediately withdrawing his arm. "Can't stand Audrey Hepburn. I'll catch you two tomorrow at the office, then."

            And with that, he turned and left.

            Well. This was really rather convenient.

            "How can you not stand Audrey Hepburn?" Fred mused aloud, looking perplexed.

            Wesley shrugged. "Perhaps it's a vampire thing."

            "Could be," Fred agreed. "So," she continued brightly, "It looks like it's just going to be us, then."

            Wesley smiled. "Looks like it," he agreed.

            And he certainly wasn't complaining.

_FIN_


End file.
